


Lesser Evils

by mcicioni



Category: Inspector Rex
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-15
Updated: 2012-12-15
Packaged: 2017-11-21 04:52:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/593641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcicioni/pseuds/mcicioni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a sequence of 'missing scenes' from the end of the episode 'Die Verschwörung' (The Conspiracy).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lesser Evils

**Author's Note:**

> All my thanks to Sal, Jill, Kirstie and Ingrid for beta-reading above and beyond the call of duty.

When he opened his eyes, the train had just stopped, with the buffers less than three metres from his nose, and between him and the train, barking at the top of his considerable lungs, stood Rex. Christian Böck blinked and then turned beetroot red. Ahrens and Stanok had escaped, then. He'd almost caught up with them – they were even less fit than he was, and were running slowly and clumsily along the tracks – when, damn it, he'd tripped and bumped his head. His own stupid fault for running on the sleepers, of course. He tried not to think of what would have happened if Rex hadn't managed to stop the train – how, he didn't have a clue, and it didn't matter anyway. He smiled thanks at the big German Shepherd, not trusting his voice, and knowing that Rex understood how he felt. 

"You okay?" The train driver had jumped off and was bending towards him. He looked close to retirement age, and his hands and voice were shaking. Christian was glad that no messy accident would be spoiling the end of his working life.

"Yeah. Never better." He somehow managed to wink as he was being helped to his feet. "You'll have a lot of angry passengers on your hands in a minute if you don't restart that engine. And I have two partners who'll look after me." Rex was beside him, still panting, warm and comforting, a raspy tongue scraping the back of his hand. "Rex, go get Alex." 

Oh yeah. Alex.

Christian's guts went cold at the thought of super-rational, super-competent, super-fit Alex Brandtner finding out how things had gone. He wouldn't hit the roof – he usually was amused rather than irritated by the inadequacies of his human colleagues, and Rex had nothing which remotely resembled a single inadequacy – but he was sure to point out that the two murderers were probably halfway to the Hungarian border by now, laughing their heads off. And that the state police were going to take over, and the satisfaction of grabbing the bastards would belong to them, not to the Brandtner team.

Shit.

He stumbled on to the grassy verge beside the tracks, Rex still beside him. They stood together and watched the driver climb back on, and the train shudder back into motion and disappear around the bend. Then they looked at each other.

"Go on, Rex. Go tell Alex."

Rex barked once in acknowledgement and became a blur of motion, bounding towards the golf course, tail wagging for all it was worth, his bark loud and urgent. Alone, Christian felt the first shudders of delayed shock wash over him and his head begin to throb wildly. He was nebulously aware that the sensible thing to do was to get his cell phone and call Alex, or an ambulance, or the hotel management, but the hammering inside his head was getting stronger and common sense was getting dimmer by the second, and all he could do was slide down to a sitting position on the grass and shiver and close his eyes. 

"Christian. Christian, wake up."

He blinked. Alex was sitting beside him, supporting him with one arm around his shoulders, and frowning at him.  
"How're you doing?"

"Great. Never better." But this time he couldn't manage a wink, and Alex just shook his head as he fished in a pocket and extracted his pencil flashlight.

"Open your eyes. Wide." The light hurt, but Alex kept the flashlight steadily trained into his eyes for a couple of seconds, then started waving it from right to left in a slow arc, checking if the beam was being followed.

"My brain's fine," Christian grumbled impatiently.

"Hmm. As fine as it'll ever be." Alex half-smiled at him, deep-green eyes warm and teasing as usual, but behind the reassurance there was something else, something unspoken and unsettling, almost dark. "I've called an ambulance, it should be here any minute."

"Where's Rex?"

 

"With Ahrens and Stanok." Christian gasped, bewildered. "They're handcuffed together, Rex is keeping an eye on them." Christian nodded, then grimaced at the inevitable stab of pain. Of course. Alex and Rex had intercepted the murderers in the golf course, arrested them – in action together, they were unbeatable – and the backup team would be there in a minute to do the cleaning up. He and Alex exchanged a quick grin of complete trust in Rex, and remained silent until the ambulance braked to a halt beside them. The paramedics, a young woman and an older man, cast quick appreciative glances at Alex before they turned their attention to Christian, went through the flashlight act all over again, tapped various parts of his body in quick succession, declared him fit enough not to be taken to hospital and X-rayed, bandaged up his head, recommended a good night's rest, and drove them back to the golf course.

Ahrens and Stanok were lying in the soft grass, moaning and cursing, and Rex was standing over them, snarling uncompromisingly at their every movement. Ahrens's right forearm was bloody from elbow to handcuffed wrist, and Stanok was gingerly rubbing his left ankle with his free hand.

"Let me guess," Christian smirked. "Ahrens tried to hit Rex." Alex nodded. "And Stanok tried to kick him." Rex barked vigorously. Ignoring the fierce throbbing each movement caused, Christian knelt down, put an arm around Rex's neck, and planted a resounding kiss on the damp, coal-black nose. The simultaneous sensations of a raspy tongue scraping his cheek, Alex's firm hand rubbing his back, and their captives glaring at the three of them warmed him inside: for one moment, just one, nothing was going wrong. 

* * *

"So they confessed everything."

"Yes. While you were sleeping. They're on their way back to Vienna now."

It was late and the dining room of the hotel was almost empty. The sparkle of the chandeliers was reflected in the glasses and cutlery, the pine-covered mountains were huge dark blurs outside the French windows. Just as motionless as the mountains, right against the pane of the main door, was a smaller dark blur, sitting on its haunches in silent outrage at the rule that dogs were not allowed inside eating areas.

"Shouldn't we also ... ?"

"No." Alex's voice brooked no argument. "Tomorrow. Tonight you rest." 

"We're still the guests of the hotel management, I trust."

"Yes. Until tomorrow morning. Just the rooms, of course, we'll have to foot the bill for this meal." Alex flashed him a rueful smile, then looked at his half-eaten steak and salad, lay down his knife and fork, and nodded at Christian's empty plate. "Want some of this?"

Christian gingerly shook his head. He saw that the smile hadn't quite reached Alex's eyes, and felt his guts go cold again. He should have known better than to run on the sleepers. He did know better. Twelve years' experience in the force, and he was still making stupid, embarrassing mistakes. Not good enough when his perfect scores on the shooting range and competent police work only just made up for his less than excellent physical condition. He had let Alex down, and not for the first time. He stared down at the tablecloth, his thoughts spinning along the dark paths of his pessimistic outlook on cases, life, and the universe. Maybe the most sensible thing to do was get out of Homicide altogether and move sideways, possibly to Vice, possibly back to the Children's Division. Maybe this was what was on Alex's mind right now. Maybe all he had to do was speak up, wait for Alex to agree with him, and apply for a transfer, and that would be it. He felt as dizzy as if he were standing on a fourth-floor ledge. He looked up. 

"No, thanks. Rex can have it. What I want ..." The only remedy for fear of heights was to look straight ahead. Alex's eyes were very dark, two small vertical lines forming at the beginning of his eyebrows. " ... is to have it out."

A pause. "There's nothing to 'have out'. It's late, Christian, go to bed. I'll take Rex for a walk and then I'll get some sleep too."

He looked weary, and at least as confused as Christian was feeling. Alex, partner, team leader and friend. Object of his desire from the very first day, from that perfect dive into the Danube to retrieve evidence, even though of course the desire, once acknowledged, had promptly been relegated to the back-burner of extreme improbability. If it all had to end here, let it end with some dignity. Christian reminded himself that another thing he was pretty good at – short as he was, cute and innocent as he could look – was interrogation technique. No matter how unpleasant the outcome of the interrogation was going to be. He leaned forward, narrowing his eyes a little. "No chance, Alex. What's bothering you?"

A sigh as the technique was being recognised and assessed. "All right, then. In the golf course, while Rex and I were arresting Ahrens and Stanok ... " The way the well-shaped eyebrows were knitting told Christian that Alex was trying to clarify things to himself as well as to him. " ... I was expecting you to turn up any minute, and you didn't. Rex and I just knew you were in trouble. And I'd already handcuffed Stanok, but Ahrens was free to move, so I had to keep a gun on him. So it had to be Rex who ran to find you." He slowed down, choosing each of his words carefully, like when they had to speak French or English to their Europol colleagues. "And ... all I could think of was two things. If you were dead, I was going to shoot them. Right there. If you were alive, what the hell was I doing?"

"You just told me. Guarding two of the men who had murdered Kempinsky," Christian informed him. If he hadn't known how much it was going to hurt, he would have shaken his head at the absurdity of the question.

"Yeah. And I left you in deadly danger. Instead of choosing ..." Alex looked away, lowering his voice a little. " ... the lesser evil. The risk that they'd run."

Christian instantly sat up, his fork clattering on the table and dropping to the floor. "Lesser evil? I can't believe this." His experienced policeman's guts were instinctively twisting in outrage. "It's the first thing they drill into us at training, you try to protect your colleagues, but the main thing's catching the villains, and if a colleague dies on duty, you grieve, but accept it." He silenced the voice shouting inside his head that said that if Alex ever died, he would never accept it, and would leave the force at once. "And anyway, who says that I'm so hopeless at taking care of myself?" Yes. This was easier ground. All the self-deprecating thoughts of a few moments ago seemed to have flown out of his head like bats out of a cave. "Let me tell you . . ."

"Wait," Alex snapped. "I know you can take care of yourself. But ..." He closed his eyes for a moment, then re-opened them, squaring his shoulders. "Now just listen, don't interrupt, all right?" He waited for Christian's small nod and frowned slightly, just as he did late at night in the office, when Höllerer had gone home and the two of them were drinking the twentieth cup of coffee of the day, reviewing the facts about a case and trying to tease out the connection that made them into a pattern. "I've been a cop for ten years, and have always lived alone with a dog, first Arko, then Rex." Christian blinked, opened his mouth, and shut it again at Alex's gesture. "You know how it is. Married to the job, hardly any private life. We can spend all night working on a case ..." 

"Yeah. We certainly can. Freezing to death on stakeouts. Or in the office, and we get headaches from staring at the computers and heartburn from coffee and stale ham rolls, and finally go to sleep at our desks. Great life."

"Stop grumbling," Alex ordered, but his lips were twitching. What he'd said so far didn't sound like a team leader wanting to get rid of an occasionally incompetent colleague, but you never knew. Christian decided to comply.

"And most of the people we come across are criminals or corpses." A small, lopsided grin. "So the little free time we get, I've got out of the habit of spending it with people. You know that. I train, go for runs in the woods with Rex, chop firewood, read, do crossword puzzles. I can spend a whole day off without hearing a human voice, and I love it, and the next day I'm refreshed, ready to get stuck into our caseload."

Christian made a small noise of agreement, shuddering at the memory of the mercifully few times Alex had taken _him_ running with Rex, and still not sure where all this was leading. But one of the reasons why he was good at interrogation was that he let suspects ramble on until the vital detail slipped out. He held his tongue.

"Coffee, gentlemen? A liqueur?" The waitress was young and pretty, with dark eyes that roamed over Alex while she demurely moved around the tables. Christian looked up with interest at the offer of a drink, Alex wordlessly shook his head, pointing at Christian's bandaged head. The waitress retreated, Christian pulled a face, Alex resumed talking, eyes serious and level.

"So you see ... it's never been easy for me to get involved. Emotionally. People can be ... difficult. And my partners ... the few I've had ... haven't found me easy to be with either." A small, resigned shrug. "For a while I do what they want, concerts, films, sleep in on Sundays off, meet their friends, go to parties ... and then either I give up, or they see that it isn't what I want, and give up on me."

He stopped for a moment. Christian grunted in sympathy, reflecting on the succession of his own former lovers. There hadn't been all that many, of either sex, but the one common factor was that no liaison had ever lasted long. The women had complained about his habit of going to sleep during plays and operas, the hours he kept, and his calling off dates at ten minutes' notice because of yet another corpse. The men had, sooner rather than later, started spouting clichés from both ends of the political spectrum about what he did for a living, or – he grimaced at the recollection – suggested getting adventurous with handcuffs and/or truncheons, which in his book was on a par with early morning five-kilometre jogs. 

"Eventually, I sort of called it quits. More or less decided that I was going to be alone for the duration. With Rex, of course. So when I've been interested in someone, I haven't done anything about it." He looked at Christian, then away. Christian drew in a little breath. No. It wasn't wishful thinking. The clues were _there_ , they had shaped into a pattern. The careful, genderless talk about "partners" and "someone", a strategy he could recognise because he'd employed it often enough himself. The slow shift from the general to the particular. And now, was it his move? His stomach started turning somersaults, just like the day Alex and Rex had made him get into that goddamned hot air balloon, and it had climbed at once, the landscape spreading to terrifying dimensions under him before he could blink. 

"Because you see, all things considered, I'm not much of a prospect."

_What?_ Alex Brandtner, with his looks, his brains, his manners, his skills? Christian shook his head hard, regretting it at once. Then he frowned, reflecting, elbow planted on the tablecloth and chin resting on his hand.

"Yeah. You can be impossible," he said slowly, half to himself. "You drive everyone as hard as you drive yourself, and never listen to anyone. And you're always so damn controlled, and never give anything away about yourself, at least you haven't until tonight." He held Alex's eyes, the balloon hanging motionless in the cross-currents. "And you think that everything's your responsibility, even partners who are stupid enough to nearly get themselves killed, and this'll have to stop, Alex, or else." He went on fast, before Alex could reassert his status, or call his bluff. "And yet."

"And yet what?" Alex studied his face, a dimple forming in his left cheek. For four months Christian had been telling himself not to think about that dimple, with the same result as someone telling himself not to think about pink elephants. 

"And yet, you might have a chance with someone who knows both you and the job." He managed to keep an absolutely straight face and to ignore the fact that his stomach was now a solid mass of knots. "Who might see being with you as, how'd you put it ... ? a lesser evil than being alone, or with anybody else."

Alex blinked once, his long dark lashes fluttering, then leaned back in his chair and looked him over, slowly. Christian's breath caught in his throat. The balloon was gliding in a rising current, and the landscape below was getting more distant by the second, but the knots in his stomach were loosening one after the other. 

"Always so positive, Christian." There were joy and tenderness and anticipation and a lot of other things as well as irony in Alex's voice, and the smile that went with the words was one of those luminous, extra-warm ones usually reserved for Rex after he had caught a murderer.

"Right," Christian said, now beginning to enjoy every second of the conversation. "But you know that." He gave Alex his very best innocent, wide-eyed stare. "And what do you think we could do now?"

Alex gave his ankle a gentle kick under the table, trying to look stern, but laughter was hiding behind his eyelashes and bubbling in his voice. "We can split the bill and take Rex for his night walk. Come on."

Rex between them, they headed for the rear of the hotel, which looked onto the wood by the golf course. As they walked past the sauna, Christian nudged Alex and cast a wistful glance in its direction, remembering a few not entirely uninteresting hours he had spent in similar establishments, in far less desirable company. Alex just shot him a look and kept striding ahead. Rex, the memory of the time he'd spent locked in there with Kurz probably still fresh in his mind, barked indignantly. "OK, night walk it is," Christian muttered, but his put-upon expression was an act, and his partners were fully aware of it.

They went down the slope leading to the golf course, where they had searched for clues to Kempinsky's death. Christian walked slowly, minding where he put his feet, envying Alex's easy strides, and wondering if both his partners could see in the dark. Rex was bounding ahead of them, doubling back, falling behind, and then chasing them at top speed, to overtake them again and set out in pursuit of new smells and noises in the bushes. 

For quite a while Christian had been used to identifying happiness with lack of pain, be it physical or emotional: a job which ended in an arrest without shootouts, an unbroken night's sleep, a sexual encounter which did not leave him empty. Tonight, unbidden and unfamiliar, a number of positives were springing up all over the place: the memory of a perfect steak lingering in his tastebuds, the sharp smell of pine and spruce in the crisp Semmering air, leaves rustling above their heads and twigs crunching under their feet, glimpses of the moon behind clouds and treetops, and Alex's arm resting lightly on his shoulder as they fell into step side by side. He sighed deeply.

"What's wrong?" Alex's voice was warm, but there was a touch of uncertainty in it, as if a part – however small – of him wanted to pull out now, before self-sufficiency stopped being the natural daily condition and became something to be negotiated, something which ended where somebody else's needs began.

"Nothing," he said with complete certainty. He took a quick breath, stepped sideways, rested his back against the trunk of an oak, reached out, took Alex's hand and pulled, hard. "Absolutely nothing." He smiled at the bushes, at the clouds, at the man who had regained his balance by planting a splayed hand right above his head and was now bending towards his mouth. "Nothing whatsoever."

The full lips were soft and dry, moving slowly over his, a gentle, leisurely acquaintance, tongue caressing lips and teeth, resting for a second, teasingly, and exploring more deeply, while Alex's fingers wandered back and forth along the back of Christian's neck, gently scratching through his hair, in a softer version of the way he stroked Rex.

"I'm human, you know," he muttered, only half laughing, and reached up with both hands and filled them with Alex, starting with the long slender neck and pressing down hard along the broad shoulders and the solid biceps, exploring the territory and revelling in its beauty and staking it out, quickly, just in case.

"You don't say," Alex drawled, but the dimple belied the irony, and his hands moved down Christian's neck, sliding into his leather coat, making their way into his suit jacket. "Always wrapped up," he chuckled softly, while his hands were getting less gentle, stroking down his back and grabbing his ass, long fingers moulding and squeezing it, determined and proprietary. Christian moaned into Alex's mouth, his breath quickening and his groin tightening. There he was, not all that fit and not all that graceful, and yet the lips sucking and biting his were getting greedier by the minute, and what was pushing against his thigh was the genuine article, as hard and hot, through two layers of trousers, as what was inside his own boxer shorts. 

Behind them there was a swift padding, a soft whine, and Rex was at their side, a golf ball in his mouth, head cocked sideways, watching them. Christian glanced down at him, remembering countless snatched ham rolls, a few toys strategically placed in his path when he wasn't looking, and a few especially clever tricks – purloined car keys, garden gate slammed in his face, cell phone hidden in the compost heap – when he'd been a guest at the Brandtner residence.

"Hi there," he said warily.

"Wait." Alex stepped back from him, squatted beside Rex, slung an arm around his neck, talked very softly and lovingly in his ear, and waited, hands buried in the shiny gold and black fur, until Rex decided to bark once in reluctant consent.

"And what was that?"

"I explained that tonight he's sleeping in your room. He can have two ham rolls from room service, and he can watch TV. And tomorrow morning we'll take him for a nice long run before we drive back to Vienna."

"Great." The nice long run was a distant prospect, and he could always plead his head injury. "Let's get back, before ..." He looked at Alex and stopped, whatever flippant joke he had been about to make dissolving before it could be shaped into words.

"Scared?"

"Sure." A beat. "Hey. Are you prepared?"

Alex understood at once, and lifted hands and shoulders in his habitual gesture of smiling apology. "No. I wasn't expecting ... Are you?"

Christian rummaged in his pockets, and extracted a wad of cleanish paper handkerchiefs, a clothes peg, his murder squad badge, his service latex gloves, a comb, notebook and pencil, and a small square package. "I'm never that much of a pessimist," he said, colouring a little under Alex's amused scrutiny. He drew himself up to his full 163 centimetres and headed back towards the hotel, steps and heart as light as a balloon floating in a gentle breeze over the treetops.

* * *

Sunlight, filtered through the thick satin curtains, was dancing on Christian's eyelids as he rose to consciousness through several layers of sensations. He breathed in the smells rising from the sheets, faint traces of lavender fabric softener, and stronger smells of sweat and sex. On his left, there was gentle snoring at irregular intervals. On his right, there was an equally gentle, but determined intermittent scraping against the locked communication door. The unfamiliar delight of soft bed linen against bare skin was marred by an assortment of feelings of discomfort. He decided to open his eyes.

Alex was lying on his stomach, one muscular arm folded under his head, the other tentatively stretching sideways, the glorious length of him clearly visible through the sheet. Christian pulled a face, half foolish delight and half rueful recollection. He glanced at his wristwatch, the only thing he hadn't taken off: only 6.30, plenty of time to get organised. He carefully lifted the blankets, slid out of bed, and padded into the bathroom to take care of the most pressing discomfort, and to survey the damage.

His reflection in the mirror wasn't all that flattering. Hair falling haphazardly over his bandage, blue eyes – his best feature under normal circumstances – puffy and bloodshot, and two new, hopefully temporary, distinguishing features: a purplish bruise under his left ear, and a perfectly discernible stubble rash on his cheeks. He sighed and looked down: the same rash marked his neck, chest, stomach, and both upper thighs. He drew in breath, uncertain whether to burst into laughter, blush, or swear. Typical of Alex to throw himself into every new task with enthusiasm and energy – and to forget to do something about his everlasting five-o'-clock shadow. The recollection of Alex holding his eyes while sliding down his body and settling between his thighs – no teasing, no holding back, just open, joyful lust – burst inside him, lighting and warming him up from the tips of his hair to his toenails. He'd been imaginative, playful, and passionate beyond Christian's most absurd fantasies. Still, he told himself, there were a few areas where super-competent Inspector Alexander Brandtner could do with some additional training.

He froze at this last thought, staring at his reflection, inner light and warmth instantly reduced to sporadic flickers. It couldn't possibly last, of course. Incompatibilities, scores of them, were bound to raise their ugly heads the moment the three of them got back to the Murder Squad. Alex's ingrained self-sufficiency, his habits of restraint and tight self-control. His own damn knack for getting into more danger than he could handle, and his bad temper. And if incompatibility didn't destroy them, problems at work would: to tell or not to tell, to try to keep working together or not. Not to mention what would occur if either of them decided that he wanted a transfer, or a promotion. Or if either of them ... He saw that railroad track again, and the buffers looming over him, and shivered. Rest, and shared body heat, were definitely preferable to the direction his thoughts were taking. He decided to ignore the scratching behind the connection door, which had become less tentative, and was accompanied by disgruntled growls, and quietly pushed the bathroom door open and walked back into the room. 

Alex was awake, lying with his arms linked behind his head. He looked Christian over with a mixture of concern and amusement.

"You all right?" His voice was still thick with sleep, slow and soft. Christian tried not to melt into a puddle.

"Sure. But," a quick wave, pointing to the various disaster areas, "next time you shave, all right?" The words had bolted before he could lock the stable door. He mentally kicked himself a few times while he glanced at his toes, then at his fingernails, then threw his head back to stare at the chubby little cupids frolicking with an assortment of nymphs and satyrs on the mock-seventeenth-century ceiling. 

"Next time." A moment's silence, then a burst of laughter. Christian forced himself to look down and then sideways at his partner. Alex's face showed nothing but relief, joy, and determined optimism. In the middle of the dark growth on his cheeks there were now two dimples, one large, one small.

"Thinking doom and gloom again, were we?" Still laughing, Alex patted the bed beside him. 

" _We_ weren't," Christian replied stiffly. He lifted sheets and blankets, slipped in and lay down, arms close to his sides. Alex chuckled, supple shoulders sliding under the barrier of Christian's arm, head settling against Christian's chest. Christian had seen him do that with Rex countless times, and remembered how every time his guts had tightened at the automatic thought _No, forget it, you'll never be that close to him_. He grinned to himself. Oh yes, there was going to be a next time, and probably more times after that, and afterwards, things would take care of themselves one way or another. He turned on his side, smoothed his hand over Alex's shoulders, ribcage and hips, and cupped a lovely, muscular buttock. 

And the scratching behind the locked door became faster and louder, the growls now replaced by positively resentful barks. Christian instantly pictured huge bills for repainting expensive white-glossed doors, and non-stop angst-ridden negotiations between himself, Alex, and Rex.

"We've got to get up," Alex said, his fingers doing a number of creatively apologetic things to various parts of Christian's anatomy. "We did promise him that we'd take him for a run. And we have to get back to Vienna."

" _You_ promised. And I have a head injury." Christian ignored the raised eyebrow reminding him that in the previous few hours the head injury had been cheerfully forgotten by all parties concerned. He also ignored the fact that they had driven to Semmering in Alex's car, and therefore he had no choice but follow his team leader.

Alex reflected for a moment. "Get up, and I'll take you out to dinner at a restaurant of your choice. Tonight." He stopped short, a faint flush spreading up his neck. "Or maybe tomorrow night."

So obviously wanting more, and at the same time not wanting to push, and wanting to run for his life. Christian narrowed his eyes, making a quick decision about which was the lesser evil, allowing Alex to slip back into control mode or allowing him and Rex to get their fix of endorphins. "Tonight," he said firmly, getting out of bed and heading for the shower. "The Italian restaurant at the Prater. And Rex can't have more than one small ham pizza."

* * *

The main door of the hotel was open, letting in sunshine and cool fir-scented air, and the mountains stood against the horizon, tall and sloping and covered in dark-green forests. Christian was waiting for the blonde manager, who throughout their stay had ignored him while fawning upon Alex and Rex, to notice his presence so that he could hand in their keys. His partners were, he hoped, going to turn up any minute, and set off on their blasted run.

Alex's amused drawl from behind startled him. "You look good in that bandage. Like a war hero." Typical Brandtner, making fun of him in front of third parties. And Rex ... what the hell was he doing, with _his_ head wrapped up in a strip of white cloth? Solidarity, his ass. He scowled at them both.

The manager was addressing him, for a change. Her voice was tinged with frost. "''Mr Böck. One more thing about your room account. The bill for … the special TV channels."

Oh shit. While he and Alex were otherwise occupied, Rex had spent the night watching the damn programmes about what he probably saw as human mating. "It was the dog, you know," he muttered, and flushed darkly, realizing that either she wouldn't believe him and take him for a complete idiot, or she would, and promptly guess why the dog had been left alone in front of the TV.

She gave him one brief disdainful glance, and turned towards Alex, who was talking to Rex. OK, so she thought he was an idiot. Lesser evil and all that, but he was going to have a few words with both his partners once they got in the car. He fished his sunglasses from his breast pocket and put them on, glaring at everybody over their rims when they slid down his nose.

"Come on." Alex reached over with a long finger and pushed the glasses back up. As soon as they were out of the main entrance, Rex and Alex bounded off together, racing towards the woods, revelling in their speed and strength. Christian stood in the sun, watching them, a smile playing on his lips: just for the time being, and that subject to change at one second's notice, he could afford to be happy.


End file.
